The early October dusk
settled down as they entered the winding channel between the sand
islands and the stretches of beaches. Barbara, wrapped in an old
coat of Captain Perez's, which, smelling strongly of fish, had been
found in a locker, seemed to be thinking very hard and, for a
wonder, saying little. At last she broke the silence.
"That Mr. Major officer man was 'stonished when I called you 'Uncle
Jed,'" she observed. "Why, do you s'pose?"
Jed whistled a few bars and peered over the side at the seaweed
marking the border of the narrow, shallow channel.
"I cal'late," he drawled, after a moment, "that he hadn't noticed
how much we look alike."
It was Barbara's turn to be astonished.
"But we DON'T look alike, Uncle Jed," she declared. "Not a single
bit."
Jed nodded. "No-o," he admitted. "I presume that's why he didn't
notice it."
This explanation, which other people might have found somewhat
unsatisfactory, appeared to satisfy Miss Armstrong; at any rate she
accepted it without comment. There was another pause in the
conversation. Then she said:
"I don't know, after all, as I ought to call you 'Uncle Jed,' Uncle
Jed."
"Eh? Why not, for the land sakes?"
"'Cause uncles make people cry in our family. I heard Mamma crying
last night, after she thought I was asleep. And I know she was
crying about Uncle Charlie.
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